Christopher Isherwood - A Single Man

‘Where, may I ask?’

‘Why, back across town.’

‘In what?’

‘I can get a bus, can’t I?’

‘They won’t start running for another two hours, at least.’

‘Just the same —’

‘Why don’t you stay here? Tomorrow I’ll drive you.’

‘I don’t think I —’

‘If you start wandering around this neighbourhood in the dark, now the bars are shut, the police will stop you and ask what you’re doing. And you aren’t exactly sober, if you don’t mind my saying so. They might even take you in.’

‘Honestly, Sir, I’ll be all right.’

‘I think you’re out of your mind. However, we’ll discuss that in a minute. . . . First – sit down. I’ve got something I want to tell you.’

Kenny sits down obediently, without further protest. Perhaps he is curious to know what George’s next move will be.

‘Now listen to this very carefully. I am about to make a simple statement of fact. Or facts. No comment is required from you. If you like, you can decide that this doesn’t concern you at all. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘There’s a woman I know who lives here; a very close friend of mine. We have supper together at least one day a week; often more than that. Matter of fact, we had supper tonight. Now – it never makes any difference to her, which day I pick. So what I’ve decided is this – and, mind, it has nothing whatsoever to do with you, necessarily – from now on, I shall go to her place for supper each week on the same night. Invariably, on the same night . Tonight, that is. . . . Is that much clear? No, don’t answer. Go right on listening, because I’m just coming to the point. . . . These nights, when I have supper with my friend, I shall never, under any circumstances, return here before midnight. Is that clear? No – listen! This house is never locked, because anyone could get into it, anyway, just by breaking a panel in the glass door. Upstairs, in my study, you must have noticed that there’s a couch bed? I keep it made up with clean sheets on it, just on the once-in-a-blue-moon chance that I’ll get an unexpected guest – such as you are going to be tonight, for instance. . . . No – listen carefully! If that bed were ever used while I was out, and straightened up afterwards, I’d never be any the wiser. And if my cleaning-woman were to notice anything, she’d merely put the sheets out to go to the laundry; she’d suppose I’d had a guest and forgotten to tell her. . . . All right! I’ve made a decision and now I’ve told you about it. Just as I might tell you I’d decided to water the garden on a certain day of the week. I have also told you a few facts about this house. You can make a note of them. Or you can forget them. That’s all—’

George looks straight at Kenny. Kenny smiles back at him faintly. But he is – yes, just a little bit – embarrassed.

‘And now get me another drink.’

‘Okay, Sir.’ Kenny rises from his chair with noticeable eagerness, as if glad of this breaking of tension. He picks up George’s glass and goes into the kitchen. George calls after him, ‘And get yourself one, too!’

Kenny puts his head around the corner, grinning. ‘Is that an order, Sir?’

‘You’re damn right it is!’

‘I suppose you’ve decided I’m a dirty old man?’

While Kenny was getting the drinks from the kitchen, George has felt himself entering a new phase. Now, as Kenny takes his seat again, he is, though he cannot have realised it yet, in the presence of a George transformed; a formidable George, who articulates thickly but clearly, with a menace behind his words. An inquisitorial George, seated in judgment and perhaps about to pronounce sentence. An oracular George, who may shortly begin to speak with tongues.

This isn’t at all like their drunkenness at The Starboard Side. Kenny and he are no longer in the symbolic dialogue-relationship; this new phase of communication is very much person-to-person. Yet, paradoxically, Kenny seems farther away, not closer; he has receded far beyond the possible limits of an electric field. Indeed, it is only now and then that George can see him clearly, for the room has become dazzlingly bright and Kenny’s face keeps fading into the brightness. Also, there is a loud buzzing in George’s ears; so loud that he can’t be certain if Kenny answered his question or not.

‘You needn’t say anything,’ George tells Kenny (thus dealing with either possibility), ‘because I admit it – Oh, hell, yes – of course I admit it – I am a dirty old man. Ninety-nine per cent of all old men are dirty. That is, if you want to talk that language. If you insist on that kind of dreariness. I’m not protesting against what you choose to call me or don’t. I’m protesting against an attitude – and I’m only doing that for your sake, not mine —

‘Look – things are quite bad enough anyhow, nowadays – we’re in quite enough of a mess, semantically and every other way – without getting ourselves entangled in these dreary categories. I mean, what is this life of ours supposed to be for ? Are we to spend it identifying each other with catalogues, like tourists in an art gallery? Or are we to try to exchange some kind of a signal, however garbled, before it’s too late? You answer me that —!

‘It’s all very fine and easy for you young things to come to me on campus and tell me I’m cagey. Merciful Christ – cagey ! Don’t you even know better than that? Don’t you have a glimmering of how I must feel – longing to speak ?

‘You asked me about experience. So I told you. Experience isn’t any use . And yet, in quite another way, it might be. If only we weren’t all such miserable fools and prudes and cowards. Yes, you too, my boy. And don’t you dare deny it! What I said just now, about the bed in the study – that shocked you. Because you were determined to be shocked. You utterly refused to understand my motives. Oh God, don’t you see ? That bed – what that bed means – that’s what experience is —!

‘Oh well, I’m not blaming you. It’d be a miracle if you did understand. Never mind. Forget it. Here am I. Here are you – in that damned blanket; why don’t you take it right off, for Christ’s sake? What made me say that? I suppose you’re going to misunderstand that, too? Well, if you do, I don’t give a damn. The point is – here am I and here are you – and for once there’s no one to disturb us. This may never happen again. I mean that literally! And the time is desperately short. All right, let’s put the cards on the table. Why are you here in this room at this moment? Because you want me to tell you something! That’s the true reason you came all the way across town tonight. You may have honestly believed it was to get Lois in bed with you. Mind you, I’m not saying one word against her. She’s a truly beautiful angel. But you can’t fool a dirty old man; he isn’t sentimental about Young Love; he knows just how much it’s worth – a great deal, but not everything. No, my dear Kenneth – you came here this evening to see me; whether you realised it or not. Some part of you knew quite well that Lois would refuse to go to that motel again; and that that would give you an excuse to send her home and get yourself stranded out here. I expect that poor girl is feeling terrible about it all, right now, and crying into her pillow. You must be very sweet to her when you see her again —

‘But I’m getting off the point. The point is, you came to ask me about something that really is important. So why be ashamed and deny it? You see, I know you through and through. I know exactly what you want. You want me to tell you what I know —